March of Tears
by Zakaren
Summary: This is just a project on the March of Tears I had to write for U.S history class. This is also probably in the wrong genre and category.


**This is a project I had to write for my U.S History class. It was three diary, or journal, entries from the point of view of an Cherokee Indian during the March of Tears. This story will most likely not be historically accurate and for that I apologize. I may continue this in the form of first person story but no promises. Please review when you finished.**

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Dear Diary,

Day 1 of my march of pain, I saw the white people today, they came galloping on horses into the camp. They were talking with my big brother and there was a lot of yelling. My big brother told me I had five minutes to pack my things. I dashed around looking for things to take while memories rushed through my mind. Memories of the first time I hunted buffalo with my dad before he died; memories of when Ashwin dared me to run through the flames in the big hut on my 14th birthday; my mother giving me her necklace made from buffalo bones that her great grandmother gave her. I could barely pack my things with the burning tears rushing down my face. My big brother started walking with the rest of the Cherokees and I race over to him. I gave one last look toward the burning village I grew up in before I looked back ahead into my grim and bleak future.

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Dear diary,

Day 93 of my march of pain, Old man Adahy died today. He was malnourished due to lack of food so when he tripped over a large rock he just could not get up. The guard in charge of watching us yelled at Adahy to get up but Adahy was just lying there and he could not move, because of this Bill , the guard, pulled out his revolver and … executed Adahy with a bullet to the brain. Ama , Adahy's wife , ran over to his body and cried loudly over his dead body. Bill shouted at Ama to move but she would not move so Bill raised his horse whip to hit her. My big brother ran over and told Bill to stay his hand but Bill hit my big brother instead for his "impudence". My big brother , after all the strain and starvation this march has brought on, finally lost his temper and attacked Bill in a flying rage full of loathing.

My big brother repeatedly smashed Bill's face with a large rock until Bill stopped moving. A bunch of guards came over to see what the commotion was about but when they saw my big brother over Bill's unmoving and lifeless body they burst into action. The guards grabbed my big brother and held him down so he could not move. One of the guards , Steve who was Bill's best friend , repeatedly beat my big brother while I cried at them to stop. Steve heard me and marched up to me with his face red with anger. He grabbed me and pulled me over to my brother's bloody form. Steve forced his revolver into my hands and told me to kill my brother or Steve would make everything far worse for everybody in my group. My big brother looked my in the eye with a lifeless look and yelled at me to do the unspeakable. Steve cracked his horse whip at me and this action cause my already jumpy nerves to accidentally squeeze the gun... right where the trigger was. A loud crack rang through the air and blood started pouring through my brothers raggedy shirt. My big brother with the last of his strength pulled my down and told me to never forget what the white people have done. Steve took the revolver and told everyone to keep marching.

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Dear diary,

It has been roughly 278 days since the last time I have put an entry in my diary. The day my big brother was murdered by those monsters was the day I lost my innocence . After that "incident" it has became startling frequent when someone was killed by the white people. We arrived to our new land today and the white people just left us here with a small contingent of guards: malnourished , hungry , half dead, and when they left, they left with a smile on their faces to go back to their precious gold. I walked around to survey our new land only to find that a meager one thousand of us remained.

I noticed as I walked around that a few of the guards were talking to one of the girls very loudly, they were touching her on her shoulder and hair. She told the men to leave her alone but they would not. They told her that she was a bitch and she would be killed if she did not give them a "good time" I had walked up and told them to leave her alone only for one of the guards to punch me in the face. He told me to leave them alone like the dirt I am and I just … snapped. I punched the guard in the throat and while he was bent over on the ground choking, I pulled the knife of his belt. I then , with the knife I grabbed, stabbed the other white guard in the throat. The guard that was on the ground was trying to get up but I rolled him over and sat on him, forcing him to stay down. I told him that this was the reward he got for being a white monster, then I stabbed him in the stomach with the knife and twisted it. I left him with the short knife in his belly. I turned to the girl I saved only for her to look at me with apprehension and fear. I just quietly told her to walk away and to not mention this to anyone. She meekly promised me she would not tell anyone and ran away.

I knew that someone would find the bodies eventually so I looted the dead guards and took all their weapons. I got on the saddle of one of the horses and took off to the south. As I made my way south , away from the white folk, I write this final diary entry. I will run to the south to join up with the Cherokees that managed to escape the white people and I will show the white people the power of the Cherokee Indians.


End file.
